Claim
by flowerpicture
Summary: Stendan porn. That's it really.


**AN: Random smut written in 30 mins! Yay.**

Steven's stripping out of his clothes before he's even closed the door behind himself. "I haven't got long," he says, dragging Brendan in by the neck with one hand, yanking his shirt open with the other. They clash at the mouth, all teeth and tongue and breathless groans of frustration when shirts won't come off quick enough, when belts catch instead of loosen.

"Wait, wait—" Brendan shoves him up against the closed door and tears all remaining clothes off the both of them, until they're stood naked and panting in the dim light of his office, the pulsing bass line of a Saturday night at the club pounding against the door Steven's pressed against. It's like the outside world's trying to break in but Brendan won't let it, not now, not with Steven here and wanting him.

He presses into Steven's naked body and traps his wrists against the door above his head, one-handed and firm, no room for movement when he goes in and devours his mouth, sucks the breath from his lungs and tastes deep, wants to taste the heart of him. Steven whines in his throat and goes up on tiptoes, groin to groin and cocks brushing together and Brendan gets his spare hand around them both, strips both dicks quick and hard until Steven's breaking from the kiss with a gasp, eyes squeezed shut, face flushing through with heat.

"You gonna come like this?" Brendan asks him, tone harsh and demanding, fist working them both over, thumb slicking over precome-wet head and the ridges of nerves. He dips his face low to bite at Steven's neck, catch skin between teeth, the pulse of his heart flat against his tongue. "Gonna blow it all now before you've even taken my dick?"

"No—no—please—"

Brendan works them faster, milking pleasure from them both, a hot rush spreading through his gut and making him clench his teeth, hold off, not like this—

"Brendan—" Steven breaks his wrists free from Brendan's grip and plants his hands flat on Brendan's chest and he releases their dicks just in time for Steven to shove him until the backs of his legs meet the couch and he collapses down on it, leather cold and shocking against his skin, the front of him burning up with heat as Steven climbs on, straddles him, getting a hand in his hair to yank his head back and attacking his mouth, lips parted wide and tongue eager, desperate.

This is his favourite flavour of Steven, the one who needs him so much he forgets all about finesse, control—cares only for getting what he wants, what he's been craving for days, weeks, building up in him like a rise of desire, a tidal wave of obsession. Brendan knows, because the same thing happens to him. Every time hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, and he's not had his hands on this boy, tasted his skin and sucked the moans out of his mouth—

Steven's pulling Brendan's hand around to the back of him, to his hole, because he's not thinking straight, too needy—Brendan stops him, breaks the kiss to bring his hand to his mouth and suck on his fingers, get them wet, Steven's eyes dark on him, his hips rolling like he's seeking contact, instinct taking over.

There's lube in the drawer of the desk, left over from last time, that one morning when Steven had a spare half an hour and Brendan couldn't say no, didn't want to. But he's got no time for the lube now, not when Steven's trying to tug his fingers out of his mouth so he can get them in his hole, right the fuck now, no patience, this boy, not when it comes to fucking, to what they do to each other in these stolen moments.

Brendan gives him what he wants. Loops an arm around his waist to pull him close and gets his wet fingers into his crack, presses the tip of one against his hole, feels it flutter and twitch against him, anticipation, wanting him.

"Do it, please," Steven breathes in his ear, his chest stuttering as he tries to contain air and Brendan keeps him like that for a moment, the pressure of his finger against his hole but not breaching it, teasing him, waiting for that special moment when Steven snaps, can't take it—

"_Fuck_, Brendan—" Steven reaches behind himself for Brendan's wrist, holds it in place and sinks back on Brendan's finger, plunges down in one swift move until Brendan's knuckles are pressed firm against skin and there's heat and pressure all around his finger, Steven's hole trying to suck him in deeper.

Steven sighs out a moan in his ear and releases his wrist, trusts Brendan to get to work now and Brendan's not gonna let him down but he's not doing it alone—

"Fuck back on me," he says in the instant before he starts shoving his finger in and out, thrusting deep and pulling back and Steven's doing what he's told, rocking back against him, swallowing Brendan's finger and lifting up, plunging back down and up—hands clawing at Brendan's hair and face, thumbing Brendan's mouth open so he can go in with his tongue while he fucks back on Brendan's finger and shivers all around him, sweat-hot and flushed.

Brendan loves him. Loves him so much it makes him want to destroy him. Never felt anything like it in his life and as it swells inside him now, powerful and expanding and spiralling out, he adds a second finger and thrusts in harder and breaks the kiss so he can dip his head and drag his tongue against collar bone, taste sweat and heat and the skin of this boy, this boy he can never get enough of.

Steven's whimpering now, bouncing in his lap, fucking down onto his fingers and Brendan angles them to catch his prostate, watches as Steven's face morphs into rapture and his mouth opens on a silent cry and he's shuddering onto Brendan's fingers now, hips losing the steady rhythm as intense pleasure hitting him from the inside pushes up and breaks his concentration, makes him clumsy and desperate, trying to angle right, get more pressure against his prostate, and Brendan gives it to him, loves watching what it does to him, how he almost looks like he's going to crawl out of his own skin with the onslaught of pleasure.

"Kiss me," he says because he needs the connection, needs the taste, needs to breathe in the air from Steven's lungs and take him inside, claim him. Steven does, grips Brendan's face like he's never gonna let go and plunders his mouth, choking out moans as his hips increase in pace and Brendan shoves up deep inside him and he knows Steven's loose enough now, can feel the give on each thrust.

"C'mon," he mouths against Steven's lips, using his arm around Steven's waist to slow his movements until he stops, keening high in his throat, nails digging dents into Brendan's shoulders and eyes glazed, out of focus, lips swollen. "Gonna sit on my dick now."

He spits into his spare hand and uses it to lube up his dick, keeps his fingers inside Steven until the last moment when Steven lifts up and then comes down on him, Brendan pulling out in time for the head of his dick to press in, stretching the rim of Steven's hole, a stretch and burn after all this time that Steven still seems to love, hisses as he works himself down, inch by inch, eyes shut and lips slack and Brendan kisses him, has to kiss him through it.

They don't use a condom. They fucking _should_, Jesus, especially now—but they're idiots and there's never enough time and Brendan doesn't want it, not with this boy, he'll take the risk just to be this close to him and may God judge, because Brendan doesn't care, not now, not when the exquisite heat of Steven swallows his dick and they're connected balls-deep, no barriers, nothing between them but skin and need.

He's got his tongue in Steven's mouth and his dick in Steven's body and his arms wrapped tight around him and the whole world could collapse on them both right now and he wouldn't stop, not for anything.

"Need to ride me, Steven, c'mon, need you to move—" And Steven doesn't need telling twice, breaks from the kiss to rise up, back arched inward to press his chest into to Brendan, arms around Brendan's shoulders to hold him tight, and Brendan's never felt this close to another person, not in this instant before Steven drops back down and takes Brendan deep. He presses his mouth to Steven's collar bone as Steven works up a quick, furious rhythm, because time isn't on their side and they need to come now, both of them, before it's too late and they're left waiting for next time, days, weeks away, too long.

Steven's breathless with it, rocking up and down, bouncing on Brendan's dick, moans punching out of him and heat's spreading through Brendan now, his skin burning and his heart racing and he won't lost, he's waited too long, bites down on the skin of Steven's neck and uses his hold around his waist to yank him down and shove him up, harder, faster, working his own hips as best he can and it's over already—

Stars burst in his vision and he groans against Steven's throat and his toes curl, his whole body locking up as pleasure shoots out his dick, his spunk filling Steven's hole, so dangerous, so risky—could get caught like this, leaving evidence, but Steven moans as he feels it, the heat of Brendan's come pulsing out inside him, and Brendan yanks Steven's face down for a bruising kiss as the waves of pleasure roll through his body and his stomach and gut and heart jolt with it all, the pleasure and the emotion and the things he can't say, not yet.

When it's over and he's panting and sweating and his heart's trying to explode out of his ribcage, he lifts Steven by the hips until his dick slides free and he replaces it with three fingers, straight in, hole slick and loose from his come, ready for him. Steven pulls from the kiss and buries his face in Brendan's shoulder and whimpers and moans and cries out, Brendan fucking him deep and hard and quick, a ceaseless attack through his hole and against his prostate, never relenting, ignoring the burn in his own muscles as he fights to keep up the pace, wants to send Steven shooting towards the edge and over the cliff, wants to make him shatter around him.

He doesn't have to wait long. Steven lets out a high, keening groan against his neck and he shoves in deeper and harder and presses right over his prostate and milks it, an assault of pleasure and sensation, baring his own teeth in the aftershocks of orgasm as Steven's body bows tight and hard and he's suspended in a moment of pure ecstasy, Brendan hammering into him to push him over, and then he's choking out a sob and shuddering all around him and Brendan's kissing his shoulder and his neck and the side of his face, kissing him through it, slowing his fingers until Steven's moans turn to discomfort and he stops.

They don't move, not straight away. Brendan eases out his fingers and strokes over his back and presses kisses against his shoulder, but eventually reality creeps in and Steven sighs against him before he peels himself away and Brendan sits there silently watching him dress, no eye contact.

There's always this after, this display of awkwardness and regret that Brendan doesn't buy for a minute, never has. This is where Steven's alive and they both know it, and he wants to say _stop_ and _stay_ and _I still do, I'll never stop_, but he doesn't say any of it, and he sits there silently, and he watches, and he doesn't move to dress himself because this is all of him, laid bare for Steven, and there's nothing he wants to hide.

Steven won't say anything, and Brendan won't push for a goodbye kiss, or for a plan, a promise of next time; and Steven will leave, mind focused on how to face the rest of this night, this one-year anniversary of his marriage and whatever Douglas has planned. It'll be romantic, and it'll be sweet, and by the end of it Steven will be smiling.

But then he'll be back here—maybe not tonight, or tomorrow, or next week. But soon. Always soon. Sometimes he says he's done but he never is, and he comes back, and Brendan will never turn him away.

One of these days, when the time is right and there's nothing around to fuck it up, Brendan won't let him leave.


End file.
